


lucid dreams

by p1erregasly



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Chapter 1:, Chapter 2:, Chapter 3:, Chapter 4:, Drabble Collection, Drinking, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nausea, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Unrequited Love, charles is drunk and generally just miserable oops, mentions of non-consensual kissing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:35:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21990559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p1erregasly/pseuds/p1erregasly
Summary: a collection of short fics inspired by songs.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Daniel Ricciardo, Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc
Comments: 18
Kudos: 40





	1. love is not the answer (charles/pierre)

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I came up with because I often overthink when I'm writing something. The idea behind this collection is that I put on a song, try to come up with a short fic and write it down within a couple of minutes. The fics won't be super detailed and they won't be perfect, but that's exactly what I'm trying to achieve here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by: _Robbery - Juice WRLD_

The frame shakes in Charles’ hands as he lifts it up to his bedroom window. Even in the mix of white moonlight and the orange glow from the street lanterns, the picture is barely visible. Charles doesn’t need to see it to know what image he’s holding in his hands right now, though; it’s the two of them smiling brightly behind their helmets, Pierre’s hand squeezing Charles’ shoulder and Charles’ arm wrapped loosely around Pierre’s waist. He can’t help but wonder if Pierre feels the same right now, awake at two in the morning, wishing things had gone differently. 

He sets the frame down on his nightstand and takes out his phone, resists the urge to call Pierre and instead scrolls through his gallery, dwelling on a picture of Pierre smiling at the camera – no, at Charles behind the camera – while sipping on his drink. Charles’ throat tightens up and he feels tears sting in the corners of his eyes. He closes the app but still he loses himself in seas of blue, bleached strands of hair, soft skin and plump lips – in “please, no Charles, I think you misunderstood” and in rough hands on his shoulders, gently but determinedly pushing him away. _Fuck_.

Days have gone by and he’s got countless of missed phone calls and more text messages than he can keep track of. None are from Pierre. God knows if they’ll ever talk to each other again. Charles doesn’t, not when every “I’m sorry” is met with a “please don’t talk to me right now”. If he could turn back time he would return to that night and tell Pierre he’s the best friend he’s ever had. He would tell Pierre he doesn’t ever want to lose him, and that he’d never do something as stupid as _kissing him out of the blue_. But he can’t go back to that night, so instead he slams doors, screams into his pillows until he’s hoarse, tugs at his hair so hard that a few strands come loose. 

He turns his phone off and puts it down next to the frame so he can dig his fingernails into his upper arms. He cries until he feels ill, until his chest is sore and all he can do is lay down and stare at the picture on his nightstand. The skin around his eyes burns long after the tears have stopped flowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Feedback is welcome as always.


	2. tonight i'm in the hands of fate (charles/daniel)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by: _Behind the Wheel - Depeche Mode_

Charles can’t recall how many drinks he’s had. The sand on the waterfront feels rough in his hands but he grabs fistfuls of it, desperate for something to hold onto while a darkness filled with stars and flashing colourful spots spins above him. But the sand escapes through his fingers the way the beach crumbles away from underneath him, sending him into an infinite plunge. When he closes his eyes, he finds that it only makes everything worse. The entire world tilts in ways he can’t comprehend right now, and he can’t recover from the downward spiral no matter how much he tries to hold on. 

“Charles? Are you okay?”

He vaguely registers a hand on his shoulder, reassuring and firm enough to reduce the spiralling drop to a gentle rocking beneath him. He opens his eyes and his vision wavers; there’s too many blurred versions of the person hovering above him for Charles to make out who it is. Two hands are on his shoulders now, urging him into a sitting position. Sand falls from his hair into the hood of his sweatshirt and down his back, but he doesn’t have enough energy to be annoyed with it. His body protests even before he’s sitting fully upright, nausea pressing down on his throat as the world begins to spin again. He only realises he’s falling when the right side of his head collides with the shore. It hits him all at once and suddenly he’s not sure whether he’s cold or hot and he can’t tell which way is up and which is down. Crushing pain in his head overwhelms him and he retches before collapsing in agony.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” the voice soothes him. 

Strong arms wrap around him and Charles lets out a sob, pathetically grateful for the comfort and attention he’s getting. His mind drifts in and out like the tide but his hands find toned shoulders and dark curls. Daniel. 

Daniel runs a hand through Charles’ hair and rubs circles on his back, calmingly familiar voice encouraging him to drink some water. Charles doubts he’ll be able to keep anything down for the rest of the night, but he takes a careful sip from Daniel’s water bottle and it eases his stomach a little bit. 

“We’re going to get you home, okay?”

Charles can only nod in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Feedback is welcome as always.


	3. fast (charles with a mention of pierre)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This can be read as a sequel to chapter 1, but it can also be read separately.
> 
> This chapter was inspired by: _Fast - Juice WRLD_

It’s a game he plays to stop himself from making stupid decisions: drinking every time he sends Pierre a text and doesn’t get an answer.

Charles is in his bedroom again, but this time he isn’t alone. Elegant glass works of art filled with expensive liquids – he knows that without having looked at the price when he bought them – accompany him on the silk sheets. Even though they’re just as costly, they’re more valuable than other designer items he owns. He’s shivering on a relatively warm night despite the Gucci shirt he’s wearing, and his Richard Mille watch doesn’t slow time down the way he wishes it could. So instead he drinks; lets the nights play out like still frames in front of him. 

Only one hour has passed since he sent his last message to Pierre, so Charles decides he can afford to start off slow this time. He abandons his phone momentarily in favour of a bottle of beer and downs the drink in one go. The sweet presence of alcohol blesses his taste buds, euphoria lingering in his mouth even when the liquid moves on and flows through the rest of his system. Relief washes over him, eases the pain in his chest and takes all of his thoughts with it. 

The bottle is empty far too soon and the lack of notifications from his phone motivates him to proceed to the stronger stuff. Concentrated liquor bites at his throat. It radiates from his core to the tips of his fingers until his entire body is on fire. But afterwards his skin is buzzing with numbness, and he lets the feeling seize him until he’s not sure where he ends and the alcohol begins. With his mind blank, his body resorts to routine. He vaguely registers how he picks up his phone to open the photo gallery, and before he can even begin to stop himself, he’s back at square one. 

Pierre’s face is a paradox in itself; high cheekbones and sharp edges juxtaposed with the exudence of pure compassion and sincerity. He’s almost convinced himself to stop staring at the picture when his mind flips to a blank page. A few moments later he regains full consciousness to the sound of his phone hitting the wall opposite of him. It crashes to the ground in slow-motion, but Charles is frozen. He watches dazedly as it shatters on his bedroom floor. 

_It’ll be fine_ , he tells himself. He just needs another drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man idk why I keep writing Charles angst. There's just something about Juice WRLD that makes me want to write sad Charles, so I hope you're not sick of it yet.
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it <3


	4. tripwire (pierre/charles)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by: _Tripwire - Thomas Newman (from the 1917 soundtrack)_  
>  Tw for implied suicidal ideation and emotional manipulation. This chapter references that one time Charles listened to a playlist called _Depression Songs :(_ after getting rightfully called out on Twitter.

Pierre’s heart drops when he sees the playlist Charles is listening to on his Spotify friend activity bar. Its title makes fear wash over him and freeze in his stomach, cold and painful and impossible to ignore. He should’ve known. He should’ve prepared for Charles pulling something like this after his breakdown on Twitter earlier today. But instead he’s paralysed, starting at the screen until the song _I’m Not Enough and I’m Sorry_ changes to _Kill Yourself (Part III)_. It’s so obvious it would’ve been funny if Pierre wasn’t plagued by memories of Charles threatening to go through with something like that for real, forcing Pierre to call him at four in the morning and beg him – _please Charles, I love you, I’m here for you, please don’t leave me_. The nausea that settles in his throat urges him to take out his phone and dial Charles’ number. He doesn’t want to do this again, but the only way he can get rid of those horrible flashbacks to their early teens is by hearing his friend’s voice. What if… What if… Wh– 

“Hello?”

“Charles, thank God you’re okay. I was worried.”

Relief, immediately followed by regret. He’s given in. Charles’ tone lifts as he launches into a long string of complaints about Twitter and Black Lives Matter. Pierre doesn’t hang up, just leaves the phone on his bed while he gets up to make himself a cup of tea. It’s not the first time, and it definitely won’t be the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Feedback is welcome as always.


End file.
